


Ristretto Bianco

by Dusty_Forgotten



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015), Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi (2017), Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, Humor, Infidelity, Inspired by Music, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8319274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dusty_Forgotten/pseuds/Dusty_Forgotten
Summary: “He’s not my boyfriend.”Poe gently takes the cup, presses on the lid, and clicks his Sharpie. “Yeah, well, he’s gonna be.”





	1. Enchanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Enchanted by Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NTf8Bptqyp4)

There’s an alarm to brew the coffee, an alarm that the tea’s done steeping, a flashing alert that the espresso machine won’t run until the grounds drawer’s been emptied (it’s out of beans anyway), the manager’s in the bathroom, and Kylo’s trying to figure out _what the fuck this customer is saying._

“I’m sorry,” the barista apologizes— to the customer, his manager, his frickin’ _mother,_ “could you repeat that?”

A little slower, still as unintelligible, “Double ristretto tall soy latte.”

His hand twitches over the spring-loaded cup dispensers. “What size?”

“Tall,” the man repeats, palpably annoyed, but he’s not yelling (yet), “hot.”

Kylo feels a little better with a cup in his hand, Sharpie poised to take an order he will not understand no matter how many times it’s said. “What’s the order?”

“Double ristretto soy latte.”

Are those even words? Kylo turns the phrase over in his mind while he tries to figure out what the hell a ristretto is (furthermore, how to _double_ it) when Poe— blessed, ridiculous Poe— blusters back from his break, apron untied and bill of his hat backwards to let everyone know he means business. He silences the alarm as he fishes out the teabag, scoops coffee beans and sets them to grind.

Kylo’s about to ask for some four-years experience advice on an undoubtedly Italian word this pretentious customer’s throwing around when said customer interrupts him. “Two shots.” That he can write— that he _understands—_ scrawls a two in the Shots box. Progress. “Those are ristretto shots.”

“R after the two!” Poe shouts helpfully, banging the grounds drawer against the side of the trash can.

“Thank you,” Kylo replies reflexively. He’ll supply a proper gratitude in the form of that Instagram concoction Poe’s obsessed with, later.

“Soy milk,” the guy goes on, and Kylo realizes as he scribbles: the customer’s not mumbling. He has a fairly heavy accent— Europe somewhere. It’s nice to hear, now that he knows what to listen for. “Latte.”

Kylo rereads his half-legible handwriting: _2R S L._ It looks more like a passcode than a drink. “Name?”

This is his first time looking up during the transaction, and Kylo rues all time he spent _not_ looking at this guy. The overhead lights shine off gelled-perfect ginger hair. He’s in a black three-piece, fitted slim, fair-skinned and well-groomed, and the phone in his hand dips distractedly at the eye contact. He’s the best-dressed person in the store, and there’s something ephemeral about that: unbelievable and out of place, like he’ll disappear the second Kylo blinks.

“Hux,” he says.

Kylo writes in slow, careful strokes, and blinks. He’s still there. “Tall latte, add soy,” he reads as he taps it out on the touchscreen, “three fifty-five.”

He flips his phone around, where the screen displays a gift card barcode. He’s a gold member, Kylo notes as it’s scanned. He doesn’t say anything, but there’s the slightest shift in expression that seems almost like a smile before he leaves the counter. Kylo rejoices that he’s the last in line.

Poe has already (by the will of God and too much caffeine) taken care of four of the empty cups lined up on the counter, filled and sent out three of them, and is pumping syrup into a tea shaker. All that leaves in the cup in Kylo’s hand: _2R_ soy latte. “Poe, can you show me how to make this?”

“Nah, man, I gotta pull blackberries.” He scoops in ice and rattles the shaker until tea froths. “What is that, a double ristretto latte?”

He frowns at the cup and addends, “Add soy.”

“You can do that. Just press ristretto before you queue the shots.” Poe pops the shaker open, and pours out the contents, which come _so close_ to overflowing the cup.

“Okay, but what’s ristretto?”

“Sangria passion tea for Sarah.” Then, in the same breath, “It’s like a half shot, so you gotta do them in doubles.”

Kylo glances down at the cup in his hand once more, squints, and contends, “What’s the point of half a shot if you have to do two of them!?”

Poe has already kicked open the swinging door to back storage, Sarah takes her tea to-go, and Kylo is alone in a Starbucks lobby with an intimidatingly attractive man who is thankfully busying himself with his phone instead of watching his drink prepared. Kylo has the sinking suspicion he’s going to do it wrong.

He pours milk to an engraved line in the pitcher, plunges in the steaming wand and draws up until it hisses while the air mixes in. He lets it steam on the shelf while he locates the fabled ristretto button— and there it is, right next to rinse and stop, which are the only buttons on this panel he’s used in three months of working here.

Everything is going fine, until he realizes it’s supposed to be soy milk, and he’s steaming two-percent. Wipes the wand, purges, tries again. Shots expire in ten seconds, so he’s gotta do those over— and forgets to make them ristretto, of course.

Kylo crushes the cup in his hand, and the sound startles the customer. Kylo takes a few deep breaths, because he’s being watched, before dunking the mangled cardboard in the trash and snatching another. “… What was your order again?”

“Double ristretto soy latte.” He sounds like he’s trying really hard to enunciate, and it’s kind of cute. Appreciated, certainly.

The barista pours another pitcher of soy milk— steams, shots, shelf. “I swear to God, I’ve got it this time.” It’s mostly self-affirmation.

“At this point, it’s really just amusing,” Hux says, with a twitch at the corner of his mouth— it’s weird how little he emotes. Kylo supposes he’ll have to watch closer.

“Yeah, sure, laugh at my failures.” _Just like my parents._

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Well, that’s unexpected: these business types are always rushed and rude. Good thing that face isn’t wasted on an asshole. “I know better than to anger the man that provides my caffeine."

Smart, if not observant. Similarly, Kylo is just now recollecting the dip well’s out of order, as he reaches for a spoon and finds them all caked in dried foam. He’s not about to soak his apron scouring some spoons.

There’s one thing he retained from Poe’s attempt at teaching latte art: pour slowly, and from far above as you can without splashing, and you can save most of the foam to the end. Saves him a trip to the sink— and it’s not like Hux is paying attention.

Kylo keeps the stream pencil-thin, like the metaphor Poe had made to drawing or some shit, and when he brings the spout close and tips forward, he doesn’t end up with an aesthetically pleasing layer of foam, but soy milk bulging to spill and a dash of foam on one corner.

Maybe he should have practiced.

Kylo sighs, digging through spoons and trying to decide on the least gross to scoop out some of the milk.

“It’s fine the way it is,” Hux pipes up, pocketing his phone— which feels like an accomplishment.

Kylo suspects he just wants his drink, and Kylo, quite frankly, wants to give it to him. “You’re sure?”

“What’s that old adage about customers, and their infallible logic?”

It takes him a minute to tell if that’s ribbing or genuine displeasure, and he rolls his eyes when he does. “Take your stupid fancy latte.”

The way Hux holds eye contact while he sips— up from under his lashes and freakin’ intense— is totally unfair. Then he blinks, and looks down perplexed at the lid of his latte.

Kylo thinks very hard about anything _other_ than snapping necks. “Is there a problem?”

Too much foam, not hot enough, are you sure this is soy milk, because I’m on a diet, and have no idea about all the additives in Starbucks soy milk… Kylo’s fairly confident assuming Hux is a health nut, with how much pride he obviously takes in his appearance, and a figure like that.

Hux furrows probably-threaded brows as he deliberates over another sip, and admits, “This is somehow the best coffee I’ve ever had.”

“Are you saying that to make me feel better?”

He narrows his eyes, like the suggestion is an offense. “I’ve hardly so benevolent.”

There’s a wind chime on the door, and it rings loud when a college girl steps inside. She pauses upon seeing Kylo and Hux alone in the store in close proximity, fearing she’s interrupted, but when Kylo turns to Hux to excuse himself, he’s already brushing past the girl and out the door.

Of course, Poe announces his presence by ripping open a package of freeze-dried blackberries at that exact moment, and the girl gives him the opportunity to teach Kylo another ungodly modified frappuccino.


	2. I Really Like You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen (Cover by Travis Atreo)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IbT3it1_ho)

“Light whip cinnamon dolce for Alexa!” Kylo calls, whirling back to the queue before the drink’s even been claimed. They’ve got Finn the newbie working cold bar (because iced teas have the instructions printed on the shakers) between taking orders while Kylo tends to all things espresso. Double tall ristretto— now that’s something he hasn’t made in a while— soy latte… for…

Hux’s suit is grey this time, which does nothing to make him any less attractive than his cameos in Kylo’s recurrent fantasies. Still glued to his phone— which Kylo’s thankful for, because the amount of time he stares is embarrassing. He snags the soy pitcher on the way to the espresso machine, and he’s not sure how to feel about Hux’s name in Finn’s handwriting.

It’s muscle memory by now; a cappuccino is nothing but an extra foamy latte, and a cafe mocha is just a latte with chocolate sauce, and it’s all just coffee and milk. This, however, is the third time he’s used the ristretto setting: twice now on Hux, and once for a two-hundred degree heavy whipping cream latte. Kylo hates some people.

He aerates milk with one hand, queues shots with the other, and they actually have clean spoons, because Poe actually put the work order in— though after a nonstop hour of pathetic moaning and throwing markers.

“Hux,” Kylo calls while he pops on the lid. He looks up, and there’s the slightest smirk when he sees Kylo. Slips his phone away, and takes his coffee with the now free hand. If Kylo called the order a little early, and he now gets to pass the cup directly to Hux instead of setting it on the counter, well, that’s just a convenient coincidence. Another empty cup claps against the counter as it’s rung up; Kylo ignores it.

Hux isn’t expressive by a long shot, but there’s this smile you can only see in his eyes. Or, rather, there isn’t.

“How is it?” Kylo asks tentatively.

“Fine,” Hux assures, rationally and entirely unimpressed.

“But not good.” Kylo reaches for the empty hand-off plane, holds his hand open and orders, “Give it.”

“Not this again…”

“I’ve had my coffee today, okay?” Behind him, Finn prepares a frappuccino very, very slowly. “I know what I’m doing.”

He rolls his eyes, but returns the cup. Kylo dumps it, and starts over.

Soy milk, steam, shots; not too much can go wrong there. He glances to Hux, swiping his thumb over the touchscreen of his cell phone. It’s white and seems to fit comfortably in his hand— which it must, because it’s almost always there. “Was it the taste, or texture?”

Hux looks up, lips parted unconsciously— Kylo hopes Hux didn’t catch him looking. “Pardon?”

“Is the problem the taste, or sensation in the mouth?”

Hux blinks, leans over the divider and conspires, “May I speak freely?”

He suppresses the instinct to reply  _ permission granted. _ “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

“I don’t know a thing about coffee.”

The steam wand shuts off with a pop; Kylo wipes and purges it while tapping the pitcher to the counter. “Is that so?”

“The extent of my knowledge is that there’s beans, and water, and I can’t get through the day without it.”

“Well, lucky for you,” Kylo chances, selecting the shiniest spoon from the dip well, “I know enough for the both of us.”

A smile in his eyes, Hux says, “Lucky me.”

Screw the spoon; this guy gets latte art— or, an attempt at it. He ends up with a wobbly cross between a tulip and a heart, and it’s a bubbly mess besides. At least no one knows once you put the lid on.

The drink passes from hand to hand— and Kylo avoids touching customers like the plague, because they’re almost all gross butterfingers. “Better?”

Hux sips— and smiles. “That’s it.”

“Java chip frappuccino for— wait, sorry!” The customer’s already reaching for it when Finn pulls back, rinses a bar spoon and starts scraping off whipped cream.

“I’ve been ordering the same thing for three years,” Hux muses, quietly now that they’re not speaking over the blender, “and it’s never been as good as the first time.”

Kylo leans over the half-wall to give Finn more room to reach the hand-off plane. “What was it like the first time?”

There’s a ripple of fingers over the cardboard sleeve, and he sips while he considers. “I was on a business trip in Poland, I think. Starbucks are mostly the same wherever you are, but I don’t speak Polish.”

“Java chip, no whip!” Finn announces victoriously. The customer takes her cup without pleasantry, and walks off. Finn frowns, gathers up the empty whipped cream canisters and relocates them to the back.

“I just pointed out whatever promotional they had at the time, and it was absolutely stunning.”

Kylo is aware, however distantly, that he’s got his elbow on the ledge, chin on his fist, and if he weren’t so damn tall, he’d probably have his cheek in the crook of his arm. “Stunning how?”

His eyelids lower as he glances down from the open top button of Kylo’s collared shirt, over the chalkboard name tag that actually reads his name today, and they stay just a little hooded when they come back up. Hux sips his latte, and swallows slow. “I’m sure this will sound like nonsense to any qualified barista, but it was… both creamy and light. There was none of that bitterness I associate with espresso— I’m told that’s what ristretto does— a genuine pleasure to drink, aside from fulfilling my required daily intake of stimulants.”

Kylo cracks a smile; he’s got that kind of inappropriate sarcasm similar to the parts of himself that piss people off. He’s offense incarnate, wrapped in success and and a pretty face.

Oh, fuck. He’s likes him.

It’s the realization that leaves his lips parted, leaned so far over the divider from customer and employee that he can smell Hux’s cologne, even over the coffee. Blue eyes drift blankly over his face, then come to rest over Kylo’s shoulder with a cocked brow.

There’s a man at the counter, arms crossed impatiently and snarling at the pastry case.

“I hate people that make their poor scheduling everyone else’s problem,” Hux announces at a standard volume, despite the content. “I’ll be seeing you.”

The man has to shout his order for the distance, and Kylo doesn’t catch a word of it.


	3. Sorry Not Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Sorry Not Sorry by Demi Lovato](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=78_DPkdgenQ)

They’re out of two-percent— dear God, they’re always out of two-percent. Kylo’s jotting down everything they can grab from Kroger without pissing off corporate (skim milk, bananas, like six gallons of heavy whipping cream) on a post-it note stuck to his palm (post-its, too), and embarks to find Poe in the bowels of a Starbucks back room. He’s not barricaded behind boxes, for once.

“How bad do you think Kylo wants to jump ristretto guy’s bones?”

Finn laughs like he’s not sure if he should, and dishwater splashes. “Hey! How should I know? You’ve known him longer.”

“Scale of one to ten.”

“I don’t know… like a seven?”

“I’d give it an eight and a half,” Poe says, accompanied by the clack of a scrub brush coming off its hook, “at least.”

There are burns on his knuckles, syrup splashed up to his elbows, and caffeine in his blood, but it never gets him shaky. Not like this.

“Do you think—”

“Sometimes.”

Finn huffs a laugh, but sticks to his query. “… Do you think he’s got a chance?”

He sounds hopeful. The hose goes quiet. “Knowing Kylo? Absolutely.”

Kylo’s louder than strictly necessary when he calls, “Going on a milk run!”

“Good luck!” Poe shouts back, slipping on tile. Funny; there’s a mat by the sink. He sure moved quick, and addresses Finn from twice the distance as before, “You finish dishes, I’ll watch the store.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

Kylo sticks a sleeve of trenta cups under his arm, because he knows they’re low, and hears Poe conclude, “You got soap on your nose.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah, it’s like right… Here, let me get it.”

Well, hell. At least Kylo doesn’t sound like that when he flirts. He takes his lunch after, knowing he’s in for a good day.

It’s not.

“I watched you put water in my drink!”

“That’s how they’re made,” Kylo starts, topping a frappuccino while espresso pours, “but I can make it again, if you want.”

It seems she would rather complain. “You purposefully watered down my tea!”

“We purposefully oversteep our teas and add water later. If someone asks for it stronger than usual, we can adjust how much water without making a new batch.” The dome lid snaps in place, and he pours the espresso through the hole in the top before sending it out. “Affogato vanilla bean frappuccino for Michelle.”

The woman mumbles a thanks as she takes her frapp; the other woman follows Kylo the length of the bar, back to the register. There’s a line of customers, which she cuts in front of, all dutifully pretending they’re elsewhere. “You cheapskates are watering down the drinks!”

Kylo’s actually proud of himself for keeping his head this long, but he knows it won’t last. He’s totally given up on friendliness— like he had much to begin with. “If you want your tea disgustingly strong and room temperature, ask for no water, no ice, and I will literally pour it from that pitcher into a cup. Do you want me to remake it or not?”

“I want to speak to a manager!”

He snaps a Sharpie in his fist; permanent ink drips onto his jeans. Thankfully, those are black as well. “Gladly!”

He throws the shattered shell of a pen into the trash with far more force than necessary, and slams the swinging door open. “POE!”

A stack of boxes labelled “Greensleeves” topples over, followed by a cloud that smells distinctly like maple syrup. Poe stumbles out from the alcove formed from boxes and bottles, one hand latching onto a support beam and the other behind his back.

“Are you  _ vaping? _ ” Suddenly, it makes sense why it takes Poe forever to pull something when he knows that back room like the back of his hand, even with all the espresso freckles.

“ _ No, _ ” Poe rasps with a thick fog of vapour. He falls into a coughing fit, and ends by begging, “Don’t tell District!”

Kylo lets his fury simmer; he’s mostly just impressed nobody caught on sooner. “Why not?” he presses, with no intention whatsoever to tell District.

He bangs on his chest until the hacking stops. “‘Cause I got kids to feed, man!”

“You have  _ kids!? _ ”

“No,” Poe admits, “but I donate to UNICEF!”

Kylo can’t decide whether to laugh or scream. He kicks the wall in place of either.

“Bad customer?”

He thumps his forehead against the wall, shuts his eyes, and nods.

“I got it,” Poe assures. Something swishes in the sanitizer, and when Kylo opens his eyes, he’s being offered a literally bejewelled vape pen. “No nicotine,” Poe says, “and it tastes like breakfast.”

Kylo missed breakfast. He takes the pen, and Poe smiles before heading to cover the sales floor. He takes a hit, chokes on it, and recognizes the taste of sanitizer on the mouthpiece. He doesn’t feel like his blood pressure’s gonna pound out of his skull anymore— which is surprising, because that relief usually only comes after great personal injury or property damage. Poe’s just that kind of person.

He slips the vape pen in his pocket to return later, washes the ink from his hand as best he can, and picks shards of plastic out of his palm. First aid kit’s under the register.

He leaves his apron on the hook in back, because he’s not about to deal with customers, but keeps his state-mandated ballcap on, because it’s a pain to get the bun his hair spends more time in than out of through the hole in back.

Poe’s pumping raspberry syrup into a blender, and Kylo would bet a week’s tips he’s making a cotton candy frapp. The woman— “bitch” as Kylo’s taken to calling her mentally— is still there, loitering at the handoff bar with a cup larger than she ordered and still complaining. Poe seems to hardly notice. Kylo does his best to follow the example while he cuts a length of gauze (the cuts aren’t that bad, but no adhesive bandage will stay on his palm, certainly not through dishes) but the bitch just can’t keep her mouth shut.

“That’s the one!” she announces, and Kylo suppresses the urge to roll his eyes back while he tapes the gauze down. “That’s the guy sabotaging my drinks!”

Poe, rational mediator he is, replies, “Ma’am, he was just following company policy.”

“How do you know!? You weren’t here!”

“I trust my employees, ma’am. If you’re going to harass them, I’ll have to ask you leave.” Christ, Poe’s patient as a saint. Kylo’s about ready to clock the witch.

“You can’t throw me out! I have a right to be here, as much as anyone else!”

Poe pours and tops a frapp while lecturing a customer: this is why he gets paid the big bucks. “As manager of the establishment, I have the right to refuse service. Please leave before I have to involve the authorities.”

He just put the bandage on, and Kylo’s fingernails are already gouging into it.

“You’re all inept! I’ll sue! I’ll have you shut down! I’ll—!”

“Oh shut up, you twit!”

There’s a moment of everyone in the store glancing at each other to identify where that came from, because it certainly wasn’t behind the bar.

Bitch blanches. “Ex _ cuse _ me?”

“Oh, excuse you!” the man snaps, and holy fuck, of  _ course _ it’s Hux. “Some of us haven’t had our coffee yet, and you pissed off the only barista that does my order right!”

She blinks, shocked and indignant. “You can’t tell me what to—”

Rage comes back to a boil, and Kylo grabs the nearest item that’s probably not breakable. He hurls a milk pitcher in her general direction, bursting open a bag of Veranda coffee beans on display and clattering to the floor.

“GET OUT!” he screams, and practically everyone in the store obeys in a stampede.

Well, except Hux, who stands there in his pinstripe suit, phone in hand— who steps over the mess of blonde roast beans and says, “That’s convenient.”

Kylo stands, breath heaving, at the counter, and goes about convincing his muscles to relax one at a time. “Hey, Hux.”

“Kylo,” he acknowledges.

He finally gets his shoulders to drop. “The usual?”

Doesn’t look up from his phone when he replies, “If you’d be so kind…”

He grabs a tall cup, and a steel pitcher, and heads down to the espresso machine. Poe— hands still open placatingly and wide eyes darting— finally unfreezes, and punches in the order. “Tall latte, that’s two ninety-five.”

“You forgot the soy,” Hux casts, disinterestedly.

Poe lets out a long-suffering sigh. “Yeah, and now I have to charge you for it because you brought it up.”

Hux offers up his app barcode, which Poe scans before Hux meanders to the other end of the bar. Poe leans against the counter, just outside of Kylo’s elbow room, and watches him silently count off the seconds while he aerates the milk. He sets it on the shelf to steam, queues a pair of ristretto shots, and picks at a cardboard sleeve. “… Sorry about that.”

Poe looks over, arms crossed, and says only, “Dude.”

“I’ll clean up the display, and mark out the Veranda…”

“You kidding?” Poe takes the sleeve so Kylo can pull the milk off the shelf. He taps the pitcher on the counter to pop the biggest bubbles, and purges the wand just as the shots finish. “I hired a barista and got a bouncer. Two for the price of one.”

Kylo pours the soy milk in a thin stream, so it slips into the espresso instead of sitting on top. “Before you ask, yes, I see a psychiatrist, no, there’s no medication I’m supposed to be taking—”

The manager leans in, and quietly dismisses, “Make your boyfriend his fancy latte, and we’ll talk it out later, okay?”

A dribble of soy milk stains the side of the cup; Kylo wipes quickly. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Poe gently takes the cup, presses on the lid, and clicks his Sharpie. “Yeah, well, he’s gonna be.”

There, on the sleeve, he scrawls a  _ (415) 468- _ he’s seriously writing Kylo’s number. The barista watches dumbfounded as Poe nestles the ristretto soy latte in the flirtatious sleeve, and sets it on the hand-off plane, next to a sweating, abandoned cotton candy frappuccino Poe’s going to commandeer sooner or later. Hux grasps his latte with the hand not busy with his phone, and Poe gasps an, “UM.”

“What?” Hux prompts vaguely.

Poe elbows his coworker and juts his chin in Hux’s general direction until Kylo too balks. There, on Hux’s left hand where it wraps around the sleeve and caresses Kylo’s phone number, third finger down, rests a silver band.

Poe implores, “Kylo, can you grab something from the back?”

“Uh,” he falters, “yeah, what?”

“Anything.”

He looks into the eyes of a confused,  _ married _ Hux, and assents, “Okay.”

There’s a handprint dried on the swinging door in dripping black ink, and Poe comes through it moments later with a toffee nut iced coffee with two-percent and a chocolate cake pop, which he leaves on one of the boxes of frapp roast Kylo has buried himself behind. He drew a frowny face on the cup.


	4. Wildest Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e7aq6nnn-7w)

Kylo’s phone rings in the middle of his nap, and he can’t even be mad, because he was having a terrible dream. “Yeah?”

_ “Kylo, I take it?” _

Again, he mumbles, “Yeah.”

_ “I didn’t wake you, did I? It’s four in the afternoon.” _

“And I woke up at five in the morning to open at Starbucks. Lay off.”

_ “Trust me when I say you don’t want to argue insomnia with me. I will always win.” _

Kylo rolls to his stomach and sits up on his elbows; they slip into the gap between couch cushions. “Do you have something to say, or did you call to make fun of my sleeping habits?”

_ “To the point, then. Are you available Friday night? Say, seven o’clock?” _

He blinks sleep from his eyes before he realizes who he’s talking to. “… I work late on Friday.”

_ “Pity,” _ Hux remarks.  _ “I’ll see if I can’t move my schedule around. Be in touch.” _

“Yeah,” Kylo agrees before he’s hung up on, “see you.”

 

* * *

 

“So you want Friday off, is what you’re telling me,” Poe infers, sipping his stupid Pinterest Secret Menu concoction. It’s a Strawberry Acai Refresher with coconut milk instead of water, and Kylo hates how delicious it smells.

“All I said is that he asked me out for Friday, and I told him I was working.” Kylo stocks lids, to fill his hands. “Besides, he’s married.”

“Whoever his spouse is, I bet you could take ‘em.”

He rips open a sleeve of lids with more force than required. “I’m not dating a married guy.”

“You know, you say that, but you’re still talking about him.”

“I’m done talking about him,” Kylo declares.

“If you say so,” Poe concedes. “Can you ring that customer out?”

He ties off the bag with the rest of the lids before chucking it in one of the cabinets and taking register. “What can I get for you?”

She has an accent, but enunciates. “Iced grande, solo affogato, two pump white mocha, two-percent, double blend vanilla bean frappuccino.”

See, when people say things in the right order, he can write while they prattle on modifiers. He rings it up as a mocha frapp add solo shot, because it may be complicated, but at least she said the size before all that. “Five twenty-five.”

She swipes a gift card while Poe takes up the cup. Seconds later, it smacks back to the bar. “Rey, get back here and make your own drink.”

The customer looks up— cute, can’t be older than twenty— and frowns playfully at Poe. “No, you gave me off until the twenty-third.”

“You told me you wouldn’t be back until the twenty-third!”

“Well, I am.”

Rey crosses her arms, points her chin, looks absolutely petulant, and Kylo’s trying not to laugh. Poe eyes him, knowingly, and says, “Kylo, this is Rey. She’s a shift supervisor, and I’m not double blending jack!”

Rolling her wide eyes, Rey directs her attention to Kylo with a wink. “Making my order correctly is a good way to get out of dish duty.”

She’s joking, but he’s got nothing better to do. The scrunch of Poe’s nose when Kylo takes the cup is completely worth the ribbing he’s sure to endure.

“Since you’re back,” Poe wheedles while Kylo measures out milk, “think you could close on Friday?”

At least most of the milk makes it into the pitcher, as Kylo turns for the hot bar, and conversation. “I told you, I can still do my shift.”

“That depends,” Rey looks right at him, smarmy Brit, “is there a good reason?”

Kylo pumps white mocha furiously, and Poe answers for him. “He’s got a date.”

She giggles, and Kylo drowns it out with the blender. “As long as it’s for charity…”

“I’m not a charity! Besides, he’s married,” he shouts, trying to cover the admission with a second cycle. He hadn’t accounted for the fact the both of them are career baristas.

“Poe, I can’t believe you would support cheating!”

“Look, he’s probably not even married. I mean, if you’re gonna wear a ring, that’s a good finger for it. My gaydar has gone off every time he walks on—”

“Could be married to a man,” Rey points out, and Kylo pours her frappuccino. “Would I know him?”

“Maybe. Redhead, tailored, gold member—”

“Is he English?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Poe sounds even more excited about this than Kylo.

The supervisor takes her drink, and her own straw from the dispenser, with a lift of one defined eyebrow. “I think I met his wife.”

Poe gasps; Kylo keeps his mouth shut.

“M-hm. They weren’t lovey-dovey, but he paid for both, and she had a pet name for him.” With a coy sip that makes gossip sit even better on her, Rey admits, “Of course, I could be wrong.”

Poe jokes, “Yeah, like that time you thought you were meeting Jason for an informal job interview.”

A faraway look falls over her. “I can never go back to that Panera.”

“Jason’s never come back to this Starbucks, so you’re even.”

Kylo rinses out the pitcher, faucet set to scalding. “Look, it doesn’t matter. I’ll just call and tell him I’m not interested.” Poe stutters to interrupt, but Kylo continues, “He’s pretentious and argumentative and I’m only nice to him because I work for tips. No matter what stupid pranks you pull, I’m not going out with a regular.”

Rey’s pointing at the register, and Kylo’s closest, so he turns to take the order with a smile plastered on. “Hey, what can I get started?”

Hux’s face is absolutely impassive, and pointedly fixed on his phone. “Usual, if you don’t mind…”

His index finger, poised over the touchscreen, curls into a fist, while Rey asks if they can go over some paperwork in Poe’s office. “Office?” he scoffs, before seeing the situation at the counter. “Oh,  _ office _ …” They make a quick escape to the back room, and Hux just presents the barcode.

“Double ristretto tall soy latte,” he prompts, as Kylo still makes no move once they’re alone in the lobby. “You know, tall latte, sixty cent upcharge.” The barista stares on until his phone goes dark. “For the soy.”

“We aren’t gonna talk about the soy,” Kylo advises, ringing out the order quickly as he can, even if it means dropping modifiers.

Hux walks to the other end of the bar, swiping his screen. “Among other things…”

Kylo doesn’t write on the cup; his hands are shaking anyway. Staring down at frothing milk, he sighs, “Hux—”

“No, forget it,” he answers, sounding awfully unperturbed for how quickly he had that answer prepared. “I won’t be throwing myself at food service employees any longer, because no amount of gratuity compares to the wage of people who put up with me for a living.”

“I’m sorry, I was totally obnoxious—”

“So am I.” He glances up, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks from the lamp above, and his face just isn’t fair. “Really, don’t worry yourself. I’m not switching Starbucks any time soon, and I never tipped to begin with, so all this interaction stands to lose is the awkwardness.”

“God, no.” That even earns him a half-smile. The pour’s so clean; when did Kylo get good at this? “I just— my boss got back from vacation, and first time we meet, I’m trying to get a shift changed, so I can go out with a customer, and…”

“There must be a reason you still work here, despite the outbursts,” Hux says, taking his drink. His hand looks so soft where it curls around the sleeve, clean nails, a silver ring. “Besides, I’ve already changed arrangements, so Friday wouldn’t work anymore.”

Kylo is totally not disappointed— even if he looks it. “Right, yeah.” A nod, which is certainly too strong. “Yeah, ‘course.” He hides his face by washing out the pitcher.

“I did open up Saturday, though.”

He sits it aside, upside down on the drying rack, as the faucet clanks closed.

“Goodbye, Kylo.”

The chime on the door jingles as he goes.


End file.
